


The Maester King

by NeverAgainEvan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Pre-Canon, Pseudo-History
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 05:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20522705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverAgainEvan/pseuds/NeverAgainEvan
Summary: What if Maester Aemon became king?In 233 AC, after the Great Council declared the babe Maegor and the simple-minded Vaella not suitable to be Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, they quietly asked Maester Aemon and he quietly agreed.-from the work, the Maester King, written by several maesters.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is dialogue but this story will be seen from a maester's point-of-view, from 233 to 307 AC, the reign of King Aemon I, the Maester King, the most smartest, wisest, and strongest king ever to grace the Seven Kingdoms, he took the fledging Westeros into the Renaissance.

Aemon’s last moments were peaceful. If not disappointed in his body. His mind was still strong, but his body was failing him. He was so close, so close to Daenerys and the miracles sailors wouldn’t shut up about, the dragons. _Three _dragons, his mind joyfully reminded him. One dragon from the tales sounded like Balerion the Black Dread returned.

If only he could be younger and stronger, by even a decade.

Sam’s voice was a mixture of scared, nervous, and sadness, and his words were full of apprehension of what was to come.

“Don’t go Maester Aemon,” he begged. Mance’s babe wailed in the background, drowning out Gilly’s whimpers. “I don’t know what to do.”

He used the last strength to caress Sam’s fleshy face. His fingers were like bone, and the suet of flesh reminded him of baby Rhaelle’s fat baby face when he said goodbye to her. “You are smart Sam,” his voice was dying on him. It had been soft for thirty years, but it was a whisper so soundless his own ears couldn’t make out what he said. “Faith, I have such faith in you.”

Aemon closed the eyes that couldn’t see anymore then.

Aemon expected to be welcome into the Halls of the Seven, or meet the Old Gods’ true bodies, or be a part of a great fire. He wasn’t religious, born and anointed in the seven oils of the faith, but he had grown suspicious of their activity in Oldtown. He respected the Old Gods, but had never worshipped them, and R’hllor gave his mouth a taste that was eerily similar to ash.

So, his mind could not comprehend why he hadn’t met any fate but to open his eyes to a bleary view of the world. He was laying down in the softest bed, so soft it was nothing like Castle Black, or even the Cinnamon Wind, no, no it reminded him of his last sleep in his bed in the Red Keep.

No, _no_, is this life, to be reincarnated once you die? Then perhaps Maester Darym, his friend from the Citadel who had been kicked out for his radical beliefs, had been correct. Everyone lives in their own marble of consciousness and that forms into reincarnation. No, it can’t be right, Darym believed no one remembers their past life. And he believed you are reborn as a baby. He definitely felt old, how he felt before he died, but this was –

“Grandpapa!” A voice shrieked in his ear. He glanced at a babe of three jumping on the bed. _Rhaelle? _He thought at first, but on closer look, her eyes were grey, and she was not five like the last time he had seen baby Rhaelle. And her long but fat baby face reminded him of someone else. “Elaena! Get maester!”

“Hello, little one,” he absently caressed the silver-gold hair of the baby. “Where is everyone?”

Her face scrunched up in thought, “Grandpa Rhaegy is holding court for you. Papa and mama are arguing,” she didn’t look too happy about it.

“What are they arguing about?”

“I’s don’t know. Something called,” she paused, her frown looked so familiar, one he had seen and felt before, “Succession!” She loudly proclaimed as if she remembered. She looked proud as well. “Mama wants us to be at home in Summerhall when Uncle Maekar returns from Highgarden. Papa wants to fight.”

_Oh no_, Aemon sighed. No matter which life he lived, his family will always tear itself apart.

Just then the door opened slightly. Two children, one with a greater resemblance to the toddler on his bed examined him. Her long face was pale, and her purple eyes had tears. The boy was thin and had dark blue eyes. They widened at his, “Hello, little ones.”

“Grandpapa!” They squealed in delight. He hugged them as well as he could laying down, his legs were weaker here.

“I was so scared,” the girl sobbed. “Aemma shouted to get a maester, and, and…”

He caressed her hair as well, she was Elaena he deduced. “Now, now. I couldn’t leave you all, could I?”

The door opened once more, five figures walked in, solemn. Four dressed in fine court clothes, and one dressed in a rough spun maester robe and long and heavy chain about his neck. “Elaena, Viserys, how many times must I tell you not to run,” the tall silver haired man said before he noticed the babes smile. His eyes traveled to his and widened in shock and joy. “Your grace?”

_Your grace? _That was the most ludicrous information so far. The maester in front smiled, “Away children,” he declared, his voice was also familiar. When he came close the fat boy, he once knew was a scarecrow of a man, Samwell Tarly, he thought fondly. He came to examine him and looked proud of the results. “How do you feel, your grace?’

Honesty will be the best course, “Confused,” he sighed.

“Confused?” A woman with shiny coal black hair, and the loveliest purple eyes, declared with a watery voice. Her hands clutched a man’s arm tight.

The man she held on was to be another surprise. He was older and tired looking, but he was unmistakably Jon Snow. “Perhaps the children should be away,” he spoke softly to the other man. Who although was a pure Targaryen had a strong relation to Jon and his wife (he assumed)?

“Yes,” he turned to call for the septa that waited without. “Septa Tyene take the children to their grandfather. Court should be over soon.”

“I don’t want to go,” the boy demanded. He had to be six, the girls stood their ground too, till Jon spoke softly but in command.

“Aemma, Elaena. Go,” he commanded. His wife gave him a hard look for his tone but smiled motherly at her babes.

The other woman, who reminded him of Duncan the Small, though she was paler and had strawberry blonde hair. “Viserys Targaryen, your father wants you to go, do as he says.” She gave a small smack on his butt, and mouthed, “Go.”

Once the three children left, the black-haired woman left Jon Snow and grabbed his feeble and bony hand. “Uncle Aemon,” she whispered. “How do you feel?”

“Weak,” he proclaimed. Samwell stood and walked to the fine dark Ironwood table he never noticed before. He began mixing a potion. “I’m truly sorry, but I felt like I’ve been in another world for a hundred years. An entirely different world.”

“You’ve been asleep a week after you got a fever,” Duncan the Small lookalike woman said. “Remember? After you declared the ruling on –.”

“Let’s not talk politics,” her husband interrupted with an apologetic look to her.

“What do you remember from this dream?” Jon asks.

“That I was a maester on the Wall,” he says.

The black-haired woman smiled fondly at him, “We all know the story, uncle. But you didn’t go to the Wall. You stayed and became king.”

Aemon felt like a bucket of ice was poured over his body. He shivered involuntarily.

“This dream was so vivid,” he confessed weakly. Jon wiped his brow from the towel the other man handed him. “Forgive me, but this dream has messed with my wits. Your names again.”

He expected solemn faces and anger at being forgotten, but he received none. “You are near hundred and ten, your grace. Nothing to beg forgiveness for.” Maester Samwell replies. “And I am Grand Maester Samwell, formerly of House Tarly.”

“I am Prince Aegon,” the silver-haired man revealed. “Prince of Summerhall, son of the Prince of Dragonstone. This is my wife Aelinor Targaryen of Oldstones.”

"Uncle, I’m Princess Rhaenys, your great-great-great niece, Princess of Cloverrun,” she turns a pointed look at her husband, Jon. “That is my battle-brained of a brother-husband Aemon, Prince of Cloverrun.”

Everything clicked then, and for once Aemon felt stupid. He loved Jon like a grandson when he came to the Wall. But now that he could see, if bleary, he saw his brother Egg in Jon. No, his name is Aemon, Aemon the Younger, the memory came to his mind suddenly.

_His great-great-great nephew, Aemon the Younger, stood before him, with Dark Sister on his hip and black Valyrian steel armor on, he knelt. “Tyrosh has fallen, your grace. While we did not kill Daemon IV, we have captured his brother.”_

_“And of your own brother,” he remembered feeling sad at the cost of the battle for sure, apprehension about his heir’s heir, all while not wanting Tyrosh in his kingdom at all, he had no claim to that colorful island. _

_Aemon the Younger smiled, “Well, your grace,” he was beaming. “He’s to be a father, like me.”_

Aemon’s heart burst at the memory. Maester Samwell handed him a small bottle, inside was an unfamiliar concoction, that was milky and had a strange smell. “Tomorrow your grace, we must discuss your heir in great detail. The Brightflame is coming north, and he has never forgotten what his grandfather was denied.”


	2. Maester King: Appendix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love creating histories off of appendices, and it helps me get an idea of the story, where it takes place, and characters allegiances. 
> 
> So here you go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this wildly AU, but Maester Aemon becoming king is wildly AU!

  * AEMON TARGARYEN, First of His Name, the MAESTER KING,
  * {PRINCE DAERON}, Prince of Summerhall, his eldest brother, died of the pox, married Kiera of Tyrosh, 
    * {PRINCESS VAELLA}, Lady of Brighthall, married Prince Maegor, died of old age, (222-300 AC)
  * {PRINCE AERION}, the Brightflame, his older brother, married Daenora Targaryen, died from drinking wildfire, 
    * {PRINCE MAEGOR}, Lord of Brighthall, married Princess Vaella, died in combat, (232-261 AC) 
      * **The Brightflame branch of Brighthall**,
  * {PRINCE AEGON}, the King’s brother and Hand of the King, the Unlikely, the Almost King, married Lady Betha Blackwood, died of a lung infection, (200-259 AC) 
    * {PRINCE DUNCAN}, the Small, the Prince of Dragonflies, Lord of Oldstones, married Jenny of Oldstones, died in the War of Ninepenny Kings, (222-261 AC) 
      * **House Targaryen of Oldstones**,
    * {PRINCE JAEHAERYS}, the Cunning, King Aemon’s Hand of the King, married Princess Shaera, died of a lung infection, (225-262 AC) 
      * **Main Targaryen House**,
    * {PRINCESS SHAERA}, married Prince Jaehaerys, died in childbirth, (226-261 AC)
    * PRINCE DAERON, the Grey, the Grey Dragon, he built Cloverrun for his lover, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, seventy-nine years of age,
    * {PRINCESS RHAELLE}, married Ormond Baratheon, died of unknown causes, 
      * **House Baratheon**,

**Main Branch**

  * {AERYS TARGARYEN}, the Mad Prince, married his sister Rhaella, died from Maelys the Monstrous caving in his head, (244-259 AC) 
    * PRINCE RHAEGAR, the Solemn, the Widower, the Old Heir, married {Elia Martell} and {Lyanna Stark}, the Prince of Dragonstone, 
      * PRINCESS RHAENYS, Rhaegar’s firstborn, Princess of Cloverrun, married her half-brother Prince Aemon,
      * PRINCE AEGON, Prince of Summerhall, married his cousin Aelinor of Oldstones, 
        * PRINCE VISERYS, the six-year old heir to Summerhall, betrothed to Princess Elaena,
      * PRINCE AEMON, the Younger, Prince of Cloverrun, married his half-sister Princess Rhaenys, 
        * PRINCESS ELAENA, the six-year old heir to Cloverrun, betrothed to Prince Viserys,
        * PRINCESS AEMMA, a three-year old toddler, the fear of nannies and the love of the king,
  * PRINCESS RHAELLA, the Ice Dragon, married {Prince Aerys} for duty, married Lord Rickard Stark for love, 
    * {BRANDON STARK}, the Wild Wolf, the Mad Wolf, married Barbrey Dustin post-mortem, died fighting Blackfyre sellsails off the coast of Gulltown, (262-283 AC) 
      * DAEMION STARK, legitimized after birth, Lord of Moat Cailin, twenty-four, betrothed to Princess Aelora Targaryen,
    * EDDARD STARK, the Quiet Wolf, the Silver Wolf, Lord of Winterfell, married Catelyn Tully, 
      * ROBB STARK, heir to Winterfell, married to Alys Karstark, twenty-three, 
        * TORRHEN STARK, a boy of five,
      * SANSA STARK, married Willas Tyrell,
      * ARYA STARK, betrothed to Smalljon Umber,
      * BRAN STARK, missing and thought to be beyond the wall, 
      * RICKON STARK, the Wild Wolf,
    * {LYANNA STARK}, died in childbirth,
    * BENJEN STARK, First Ranger at Castle Black,

**House Targaryen of Oldstones**

  * {SER AEGON OF OLDSTONES}, son of Prince Duncan and Jenny, Lord of Oldstones, married Celia Tully, died off the coast of Gulltown, (250-283 AC) 
    * SER BAELOR OF OLDSTONES, Lord of Oldstones, married Barbara Bracken, b. 270 AC, 
      * DUNCAN TARGARYEN, the three-year old heir to Oldstones,
      * LYNORA HILL, his twin bastard daughter he begot on Myrielle Lannister,
      * DAVEN HILL, his twin bastard son he begot on Myrielle Lannister,
    * PRINCESS AELINOR OF OLDSTONES, Princess of Summerhall, married Prince Aegon,

**Brightflame Branch of Brighthall**

  * {DAERON TARGARYEN}, the Brightflame, Lord of Brighthall, son of Maegor the Brightflame and his wife Vaella, married Robin Penrose, died off the coast of Gulltown, (255-283 AC) 
    * PRINCE MAEKAR, the Brightflame, Lord of Brighthall, married Margaery Tyrell, 
      * PRINCE GAEMON, a boy of nine, heir to Brighthall,
    * PRINCE MAEGOR, Maekar’s jealous but loyal brother, castellan of Brighthall, betrothed to Shireen Baratheon, 
    * PRINCE AELYX, Maekar’s warrior brother, a knight of the Kingsguard,
    * PRINCE AELOR, Aelora’s twin, Aemon’s friend from childhood,
    * PRINCESS AELORA, Daeron’s only daughter, betrothed to Lord Daemion Stark, Aelor’s twin,
    * PRINCE RHAEGEL, Maekar’s youngest brother, only twenty-four,

**House Baratheon**

  * {RHAELLE TARGARYEN}, Lady of Storm’s End, married Ormond Baratheon, died of unknown causes, (231-291 AC) 
    * {STEFFON BARATHEON}, Lord of Storm’s End, married Cassana Estermont, died in a storm at sea, (246-278 AC) 
      * {ROBERT BARATHEON}, Lord of Storm’s End, died at the Battle of Gulltown, (262-283 AC) 
        * MYA STONE, Robert’s bastard based in the Vale of Arryn,
        * GENDRY WATERS, Robert’s bastard based in King’s Landing,
      * STANNIS BARATHEON, Lord of Storm’s End, married Delena Florent, 
        * EDRIC BARATHEON, heir to Storm’s End,
        * SHIREEN BARATHEON, Stannis’ daughter, betrothed to Prince-Ser Maegor of Brighthall,
      * RENLY BARATHEON, A Brightflame supporter through his relationship with Ser Loras Tyrell,

**Targaryen holdings**

  * **Brighthall**, a strong castle built by Aemon as a peace offering to Prince Maegor when he turned nineteen and demanded to be heir. Built on the shores of the Bite in the northern Vale where Maegor grew up. A sign of peace but also a castle as far from court as possible. After a long conflict with Lord Daeron over his family not given the title of prince even though they are descended from a prince and princess, caused the Brightflame Proceedings of 276 AC, which King Aemon gave the title Prince of Brighthall to Daeron’s children but not Daeron.
  * **Cloverrun**, a beautiful castle built of white marble and stone. Prince Daeron built it upon learning he was to wed as a monument of his love to Jeremy Norridge. Once the man died to give his life for Daeron in a rebellion, Daeron devoted his time and finished the palace by its place on the Crownlands side of the Wendwater river. Once it was finished Olenna Tyrell had married Lord Tyrell, and Daeron joined the Kingsguard. Aerys and Rhaella lived here shortly, when Aerys died and Rhaella married Lord Stark many thought it would be Stark land now, but Aemon proclaimed it a royal demesne, strictly against lords in one region having land in another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the deal, kudos and comments are appreciated, it truly helps me write faster!
> 
> I have not forgotten his sisters, but be on the lookout for subtle updates to chapter 2.


	3. The Great and Small Councils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aemon is chosen as King of the Seven Kingdoms, and he chooses the future of the realm for after his death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I tried to do both, a pseudo-history and a dialogue to further the council.
> 
> Let me know how you all like this, I am trying something different with this story.

This project started as Maester Aemon was entering his second decade of ruling the Seven Kingdoms. This decade would bring his peaceful reign to a knee, killing off several family members, economic stagnation, and almost another Second Dance of Dragons.

I, Maester Tomas, began writing in 250 AC, but my ambitions to write this tome began far earlier. I served under Grand Maester Kaeth in the Red Keep. I earnestly observed and assisted Kaeth as he focused on writing his tome, the _Lives of Four Kings_, an extensive study done on the kings, Daeron I, Baelor I, Aegon IV, and Daeron II. But I noticed that he had to write based on events set down by former Grand Maesters, other court maesters, or the occasional decrepit man or woman who lived in those times reminiscing with inaccurate accounts.

That’s why, I decided to write the _Maester King_, while the Maester King himself and his subjects were still alive. This way there would be zero problems of conflicting reports and browsing through dusty tomes in the bellows of the deep Red Keep’s accounts cellar.

Sadly, once I told Kaeth about my intentions, he was of mind to send me back to Oldtown, “I have no use for attention seekers, return at once, away with you.”

Prepared to leave, I decided to spend my last night in King’s Landing doing what I always wanted to do, drink. So, I hurriedly walked to a fine wine cellar, the one the Hand of the King, Prince Aegon and Ser Duncan the Tall occasionally sequestered to.

As I drunk my sorrows and ambitions and dreams away and ranted to a fellow drinker, I realized with a start I had been complaining to a strapping but slight young man with black hair. He looked very familiar, but I had only been at court for less than a year by 249 AC.

The next day as I was preparing to board the _Swiftest_, a highly inaccurate name by the looks of the great cog, I was summoned by the Lord of Oldstones. I had known Oldstones was in the process of being rebuilt by Prince Duncan of Dragonflies, everyone had known, but to my surprise when I entered his solar, he was the man from last night.

He offered me a place in his household in King’s Landing and supported my idea of writing the reign of the Maester King, for without King Aemon I, Prince Duncan would have been killed or assassinated now by how much grief he caused in the brief Baratheon rebellion.

Prince Duncan provided me with maesters, such as my good friend, another court maester named Kepp, and several chroniclers. While he financed my work, it was a light financial offering for all his wealth had gone into rebuilding Oldstones.

In mind of that Prince Duncan sent me to meet the king himself for a brief meeting. I arrived at his solar shortly after breaking fast, and to my surprise the solemn and quiet and occasionally strict king he had seen from afar turned out to be not as quiet and very talkative when it came to matters not regarding politics. King Aemon was so impressed with my proactiveness in writing an account of his reign while he still lived, he had reminisced on searching dusty tomes as well as an acolyte for an archmaester back at the Citadel.

King Aemon offered to support the finances that Prince Duncan, while overly generous, could not provide for such a bibliography as the _Maester King _turned out to be. Nigh on eighty years of rulings, wars, skirmishes, unnecessary conflict and feuds, estrangements, reconciliations, and overall love.

Maester Tomas, began writing this in 250 AC, and covered from the Great Council up to the Great Winter Chill of 259 AC that premeditated the War of Ninepenny Kings, where he died of a cough shortly following his charge Prince Aegon the Hand of the King in death. The writing passed to Tomas’ friend Maester Kepp who was old and was short two decades of seeing a century of life. Kepp was a survivor of the Great Winter Chill, and like others he suffered for three years of on and off chills and coughs till he died in 261 AC.

Maester Gallard, a young man straight out of the Citadel summoned by the Maester King himself was to continue writing the tome. Gallard wrote from 261 to the Battle of Gulltown in 283 AC. His fate is unknown, and why he stopped writing is unsure, by this time the tome exchanged numerous hands, Maesters Normund, Josera, and even the chap Pycelle, who while was never Grand Maester, had served under the Grand Maester for years as his secondary man. Pycelle was the last man to write in the book before 297 AC and his writings have to be greatly scrutinized over for in later years Pycelle became objective and tried to further his own ambitions and those of others in court. But that is another tale. I, Maester Samwell, began writing after Pycelle, and eventually became Grand Maester as well, the very first Grand Maester appointed by the Citadel under forty years old.

We begin our tale in 233, shortly after the great lords declare Maegor and Vaella unfit for the throne.

**The Great Council**

_The fifth day of the Great Council began as it always did, with a clamor of lords shouting over each other and here and there a few well-spoken but often weak arguments. _

_Lord Arryn had been staunchly in support for his grandnephew, a babe many had misgivings about. Though the boy was controversial the Vale followed their great lord in choosing to support the babe Maegor Targaryen son of Prince Aerion._

_The day had rung long and emotional by the time Lord Stark entered court, he had just arrived during the proceedings and while extremely exhausted from his journey stood before the lords and argued his case well. A babe of a mad man would be unacceptable to his northern lords (causing a short strife between House Arryn and Stark that was quelled fifty years later when Ned Stark was fostered by Jon Arryn, who happened to be in attendance as a page to his father), and Lord Stark argued because a woman had never ruled the North a woman should not sit the Iron Throne, the Dornish lords argued vehemently and supported Vaella to protect their own rights. William Stark believed a man of proven talent should be king, though his own lords were conflicted on either Aemon or Aegon._

_He was not the only lord to do so on fifth day, but the only one to bring up the common sentiment of many a lord in the throne room, Aemon the third son and the smartest son of Maekar should be king. While him being a maester was a predicament, it was nothing to the lords who wanted to elect him. _

_Maester Aemon himself alongside Lord Blackwood spoke on behalf of Prince Aegon. While Prince Aegon wielded wide held support, he was strictly seen as half a peasant, and his huge and loyal companion Ser Duncan the Tall had his own controversial history. _

_But the fifth day is important, Lords Lannister and Baratheon came together when they had been on two opposing factions to scathingly denounce Prince Maegor and Princess Vaella’s rights to the throne (Baratheon wanted Vaella to marry one of his sons, and Lannister had a niece a few years older than Maegor). It was clear by the time William Stark had ended his tirade and others had argued or agreed the sun was beginning to set, and no decision had been made. _

_While choosing a successor to Maekar I was a paramount decision, the uprising he had died in had not yet been quelled and robber knights had been riding the roads and captured several minor lords on their journey to the Great Council. Along with those issues the Hand of the King with no written decree left by Maekar could not legally sit the throne but could hold court though was unable to make decisions on behalf of no king._

_Once court and the Great Council called for a recession near sundown, lords Tully, Stark, Arryn, Martell, Hightower, and a host of smaller powerful and weak lords and knights apprehended a reluctant Maester Aemon for a long meeting. The meeting went well into the night, by the hour of the wolf Prince Aegon was seen entering the rooms. _

_At dawn the men left bleary eyed, fatigued, but unquestionably satisfied, for they had finally chosen a king albeit reluctant, a king. _

_On the twenty-seventh day of the fourth moon, with thousands present and attending and King’s Landing full to bursting, Maester Aemon knelt before the High Septon, was crowned and anointed in the oils of the holy Seven who once walked the ground, and kissed a Weirwood bark (forced upon him by the demon-worshipper Lord Stark and his northern lords to replace kneeling before a heart tree), and rose a king._

_A great feast was held that night, the whole Targaryen family was in attendance from Dorne to Blackwater Bay. Some foreign dignitaries from Braavos, Pentos, and Volantis were in attendance. It was a feast that the Seven Kingdoms had not experienced of such scale since King Maekar took the throne. _

_King Aemon the First of His Name unsurprisingly did not celebrate, while only thirty-five he looked stressed enough to have aged a decade. Not only the stress of a throne and crown he never wanted, he felt extreme guilt to his niece and nephew. While Vaella was undoubtedly uncaring of her lost right as per a girl of ten, Daenora the widow of Prince Aerion had left early and returned to the Eyrie with her son, Maegor would not return nigh two decades later._

_Aemon retired early in the night during the celebrations. The stress was apparent to many who attended and even some lords felt bad for their Maester King, but many argued a reluctant king was a better king than a greedy one._

_Many a lord drunk thinking their time of unparalleled power in their own domains or/and at court would begin. Many thought Aemon would focus on the Blackfyres like his uncle Aerys the First and leave them alone and give them power to focus on his realm. _

_The truth was that none of that would occur, Aemon woke at dawn the next day while his court were mending headaches and stomachaches brought on by too much alcohol and overcompensation. Aemon and his Kingsguard roused the small council, told them their time as warlords were over, for under Maekar court had turned to a haven of warriors searching for conflict in every act. He even exiled and took the positions of a few other court members who in his opinion had grown too powerful. Aemon was not even close to being idle, by midday of his first day of ruling a purge had commenced. Rooms and quarters were being emptied of positions, some men were undoubtedly angry at Aemon and rushed to Prince Aegon. Only to not find him in his quarters or in the yard with his giant Ser Duncan._

_Some found him and left immediately, especially the former Hand of the King. For Prince Aegon was in the Tower of the Hand’s solar writing his own ideas for the first small council meeting and dealing with Bloodraven. _

_Aemon’s first day was of surprise and anger, by sundown many of the courtiers who came and choose Aemon for selfish reason had left realizing a reluctant king was not going to be a pushover. _

_By the end of his first week, King Aemon had cleared the mud of ineffective warlords and snakes at court. He sent Lord Bloodraven to the Wall. Ordered Ser Duncan and a thousand Blackwood men, gold cloaks, Tyrell, Tully, and Lord Stark’s retinue to finish quelling the Peake Uprising King Maekar died fighting in. Prince Aegon was decreed officially into his offices as Hand of the King and as Heir of the Seven Kingdoms by the end of the week. The Great Council was over and the reign of the Maester King began._

* * *

When Aemon woke this time it was dark, it was the middle of the night or near enough for it to be this dim. Aemon searched his surroundings and found himself to be in the same room he woke from his death from before. This time there was no kids, but Samwell in the chair slumped down and snoring.

Once Aemon got a good look at him in the candlelight, he noticed not only was the fat child he knew to be a scarecrow of a man, he was gaunt as if he survived torture. The lines around his eyes and mouth were premature. Though his face was gaunt his face was in a modicum of peace as if he was in a great and lovely dream. Aemon frowned severely at the sight. Could me taking the throne change his past and future as well?

He mumbled an apology for disturbing Sam’s rest before he raised his voice, “Sam,” the boy stirred then relaxed. “_Sam._” Sam jumped up reminiscent of the boy he once knew and had that same nervous look as he glanced around till his eyes landed on him. His face turned serious.

“Your grace?” He sleepily said but his pale eyes were attentive. “Are you well? How do you feel?” Sam touched his forehead and pulse point under Aemon’s chin.

Aemon raised his hand and weakly wacked Sam’s head, “Stop fretting boy.” Sam straightened as a knight did when his lord commanded him. _Oh, my boy, what did Lord Tarly do to you in this world? _“What is the hour?”

Sam turned to the windowsill and lifted the silk coverings, “Nearing dawn, your grace.”

Aemon swallowed down his apprehension. _If I must die again, I must prevent another civil war before I die, that must be my purpose in this world_, Aemon concluded. “Call a council.”

“Now? You are still weak.”

“I’m almost a hundred and ten, I will be weak till I drop,” he turned to Sam, “Now, Sam, no need to draw out this.”

Sam hurriedly nodded and jogged out in a swish of rough spun robes. Not even a minute later two knights entered the room. They were tall, white shadows of pale armor and silk. The man in the front removed his helmet and grey hair fell down to his shoulders, the face was smiling and old, but he would never forget the face of his laughing nephew.

“Daeron,” he called smiling widely.

“Uncle,” there was tears in his eyes. “I wish I was here when you awakened, but I was attending court.”

“I’m glad you are here now,” _I’m glad you lived in this world, at least taking the throne I fixed the heartbreak of your death. _Aemon vaguely remembered the broken words of Aegon after the death of Daeron. Daeron’s death changed Aegon, something broke in his brother. Then on he began gathering sorcerers and maegi. Aemon always thought he rationalized that if he had dragons Daeron would be alive, instead of unlimited power to enact his changes.

“Ser Lewyn help me and the servants.” Daeron commanded. His knights removed iron gauntlets as servants piled into his chambers. A washbasin, a fine robe inlaid with rubies, and soft slippers were brought in. Daeron and Lewyn lifted Aemon and held him as the servant cleaned him. Aemon was deeply annoyed about this, and felt so weak and emasculated, but maybe he should have thought of this before he lived to over a hundred.

After he was dressed in the heavy robes of a king, Lewyn brought him a white fur-lined grey cap, which his memories said was a gift from Rhaella, for his bald head and Daeron brought over a magnificent cane of ironwood and dragon glass shaped into a dragon and its wings outstretched. A fine piece of work, and his memories told him Prince Rhaegar of Dragonstone gave this to him.

Aemon walked by himself with his cane down the holdfast stairs till he had to cross the dry moat he used to run across with no mind to his safety. “Ser Daeron, help me.”

His nephew helped him without complaint. Aemon held on to his arm till he entered the small council chambers, he was not the first but wasn’t the last to arrive.

Prince Rhaegar of Dragonstone was standing up in greeting to Aemon. Aemon thought the man looked positively tired, his silver-gold hair was long as in the stories Aemon heard, his eyes tired but also relieved, _mayhap he isn’t ready for my death even though he’s my heir_. Sam was waiting as well with a disapproving frown on his gaunt face.

A middle-aged man with a cane decorated with roses rose with a perfect flourish despite his left leg, a memory returned to him then, he was Willas Tyrell, Aemon’s master of laws. A smart and capable lad of good birth. He gave a sharp nod of acknowledgement, but a glad smile coated his premature lined face.

Next to him was a dwarf with queer black and blonde hair, Aemon’s mind in this world lagged as his mind from the other world glared at the Lannister before him. The Lannisters must have been allies in this world, or enemies and Tyrion was a hostage and an advisor. Aemon did not know but his mind told him he was master of coin.

Varys was there simpering in a cloud of perfume and powder, a master of whispers no matter which world Aemon lived in. “It is a pleasure to see my king walking around again, how the gardens have missed your hand.” Was that a jab at this world’s me not attending meetings before he fell sick with a fever? 

“I am glad you are here but worried," Lord Lucerys said in greeting.

Beside Aemon, Varys, and Rhaegar and Lord Lucerys, his master of ships, were the only men of the older generations here. Aegon and his wife Aelinor were in attendance as advisors looking half asleep, some of the other members were tired and still dressed in bed robes with cloaks over them. Only Rhaegar and Aemon were dressed.

“Let’s begin,” he announced as he sat down in a fine oak chair carved with dragons. “Is this everyone?”

“No,” Varys giggled. “the Prince of Cloverrun and his wife were indisposed when Ser Jaime came knocking.”

“By knocking you mean walking in on them quite unannounced,” quipped Tyrion.

Aemon had hoped they were only taking care of their children indisposed, but surely Tyrion and Varys meant a different type of indisposed. “Well they will catch up, there is no time. I must set to rights my kingdom.”

Aemon struggled for a memory of his family tree and was awarded with a nice visual of it in his mind, not to mention Sam seemed to notice and gave him a crude family tree drawing. There seemed to be many lines of inheritance, Targaryens of three separate bloodlines, Starks, and Baratheons, in fact there could be some Velaryon and Dayne and Tarth claimants from his sisters.

Though he was all for woman inheritance something told him he failed into making that law for all of Westeros. So, he focused on his brother’s lines, Aerion and Aegon. A shame how both of them were in conflict before and still are.

Aerion’s line seemed to be commonly called the Brightflame line, either by themselves or people began calling them that. Very powerful as well, the Tyrells have married their daughter to Maekar, and the Vale could side with them.

Aegon’s line was convoluted. There was the Oldstones branch, though his mind told him Duncan was taken from the line of succession so they must not count. The Starks did not either, the South wouldn’t rally to Old God worshippers. It seems the conflict would fall to Rhaegar’s family and Maekar’s family.

Aemon sighed, “This will take forever. Succession will be difficult.”

“Your grace, but you already have an heir,” Lucerys pointed out.

“I know,” Aemon sighed in defeat.

“He means there is no way out of this predicament.” Tyrion supplied, Lucerys sent a dark look at the Dwarf.

Just then Jon and Rhaenys entered looking tousled, wide-eyed, and embarrassed. “Jon,” he called, then remembered. Aemon the Younger looked behind him looking for someone.

“Your grace? Jon Connington is not without.” Aemon the Younger said confused.

Slightly embarrassed Aemon did the old man wave, “Forget it, my eyes are old.”

Aemon and Rhaenys took their seats fast, “Sorry for the wait, Aemma was crying,” Rhaenys explained.

Tyrion sent a skeptical look, “I’m sad to hear she was crying. Something must have awoken her surely?”

Rhaenys’ purple glare was harsh on Tyrion, “That is none of your business my lord.”

The Dwarf chuckled and poured a cup of wine for himself.

“Let’s continue,” Aegon shot an apologetic look at Aemon the Younger, Aemon noticed he seemed to be made for apologetic looks with his big purple-blue eyes. “Aems, Rhae we were just beginning on things we can do to mediate this conflict.”

“True, your grace. Long reigns bring unparalleled peace but tends to bring many heirs,” Rhaegar said sadly.

“Once I die, if my memory serves the Brightflames aren’t going to sit this out. They have powerful allies, the cause and right, and worst of all they might have a better claim then you Rhaegar.” Many faces turned dark at that, no one wanted to hear the truth, but it is the truth that needs to be said but seldom is. “You are my council, council.”

“We have the Starks on our side,” Aemon the Younger input.

“Leagues away,” Tyrion argued. “The Tyrells border the Crownlands, a force of 5,000 men could be at our gates the minute we crown Prince Rhaegar.”

Aegon solemnly said, “and we have our cousin Daemion and his mom the bitch Barbrey to worry over.”

“He’s our blood,” Aemon the Younger argued tiredly.

“Is he?” Aegon argued back, this seemed like an old wound. “Aunt Barbrey has whispered in his ear for years that Winterfell is his. Do you think he would spare Robb to get it? Little Torrhen?”

“My husband said he is _blood_,” Rhaenys supported Aemon the Younger though with a skeptical look. “Starks don’t fight Starks.”

“People fight people,” Aemon said softly. “Greed changes people. Daemion is a fine fellow, strong and smart, but he is more Dustin than Stark.”

“Only because grandfather threw him away like a curse,” Aemon the Younger said in a voice full of sorrow. “If grandmother had fought harder than Daemion would have been raised at Winterfell but because of his birth he was given to the Rills.”

“Daemion will be a wildcard, but his support could effectively limit the Starks support,” Aemon said.

“Don’t forget I am married to the lovely Lady Sansa thanks to you, your grace,” Willas interjected. “While I was against this marriage to Maekar, father has been greedy since my grandmothers passing. The Reach will not fully support Maekar if I can help it.”

That was met with many nods around the table, but Aemon’s unease rose when he saw Varys not nod. “Varys.” He ordered softly.

“I know this may affect the crowns and Lord Daemion’s relations, but Daemion and Maekar have entered a marriage agreement for Maekar’s sister Aelora’s hand.”

“That _fool_,” the Prince of Cloverrun rose and raged. “Do they all want a war?!”

“Give me command of an army your grace, I will put rights to Moat Cailin like me and Aemon did to Tyrosh,” Aegon stood.

Aemon took his time to respond instead he surveyed the small council. Aegon, Aelinor, and Aemon were spitting in fury, Rhaenys had gone pale same with Varys and Sam, Lucerys and Rhaegar were unconcerned, Willas was reading in his book of laws, and Tyrion was drinking.

“Sit down boys,” Aemon put some steel in his soft voice. “Do you not read? Daeron the First did the same when he sent his Kingsguard to arrest Daemon. Look how that turned out.”

“I agree, and I still think none of Rhaegar’s heirs should be here when Maekar arrives.” Rhaenys spoke quietly. “Maekar has never been in the right mind around us.”

“I told you Rhaenys, Aemma and Elaena are safe here. My children stay with me,” Aemon the Younger frowned.

“Aemma and Elaena are mine too,” Rhaenys put some venom in her voice.

Aemon wondered if this is what Aemma ran from yesterday. Rhaegar slapped the table hard, “Aemon!” His namesake flinched, “You have heard my words on this. Aemma and Elaena should go.”

“Cloverrun is a palace, the walls are a formality! No one is safe there!” Aemon the Younger replied defiant.

“Send them to Dragonstone! Viserys too. I won’t have any of my grandchildren here with that Brightflame monster.”

This time Aemon flinched himself. “Maekar is no monster, nephew.”

“No? The man who threatened Aegon with death, broke Aemon’s arm when they were younger and laughed.”

“If I remember Aegon and Aemon are as much to blame for that incident as well,” Aemon retorted with a glare at his family. “I know lately I have been inattentive with matters. But I am here now, and peace must be found. I will not have blood running in the streets once I pass.”

His family bowed their heads in deference to him. “Now that we have established my goal, what does my council say,” when Aegon perked up. “With no biases.” Aegon sat back down with a rub on his back from Aelinor.

It was silent in the small council chambers. Obviously, Aemon had been a staunch supporter of Rhaegar taking the throne for all these men seemed to not like the Brightflames. Aemon sighed in defeat, he had already faile-.

“If I may, your grace.” Aemon’s eyes traveled to the dwarf who interrupted his musings. He nodded tentatively, “While I am not a fan of any branch taking the throne. Varys and I might have a plan to lessen the bloodshed, for surely blood will flow your grace.”

Aemon had already come to that wretched conclusion. Just one council and he knew, knew blood had already been shed and no one trusted the other. “Go on, Lord Tyrion.”

“If you cultivate more blood alliances, then perhaps Maekar will be surrounded.”

“There are more families than the Tyrells and Starks,” Varys seconded. 

“What did you two have in mind?” Aemon was interested.

“The Arryns have a blood tie to the Tullys and Starks, and Jon Arryn served on your council for decades before his death. The Tullys are married to the Lannisters, and young Joffrey has just birthed a daughter on his Lefford wife,” Varys beguiled them on. All but Aemon and Aelinor. “To cement this alliance, you could…” he drifted off.

“_No_,” Aelinor exclaimed. “I will not give my son to that madman Joffrey.”

“More like Edmure, your highness,” Tyrion defended.

“_No_! None of them! I will not have it.”

Varys for once wasn’t simpering or giggling. “My sources tell me Leona Tully has none of her father’s,” he searched for the words with an apologetic look to Tyrion, “Sentiments.”

“His _sentiments_?” Aelinor laughed. “I’m from the Riverlands Varys, I know my brother’s lord paramount’s heir. Do not patronize me.”

“The great Westeros alliance can either be ours or theirs, your highness, your choice,” Varys argues.

Aegon put a warm hand on Aelinor’s shoulder. “I don’t agree, but if blood will flow, I want the Westerlands, Riverlands, North, and Vale by our side.”

“You don’t know if they will even side with us! Lords are fickle, especially Tywin!”

Aemon the Younger spoke next, “This isn’t ideal, El was set to marry Vis, but this would be Tywin’s great-grandchild, this should be a great match.”

Aelinor’s face was grief-stricken, “Joffrey couldn’t have me, so he got my son.”

“I’m sorry, young one,” Aemon placated. He turned to Tyrion. “I leave it to you to arrange this with your family. Sam draw up the papers.” Aelinor fled the council chambers in a huff of silk bed robes.

“Is this your order, your grace?” Aegon was torn between following his wife and staying with the small council.

“I’m truly sorry Aegon, I will not have another Dance of Dragons on my hands after I die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also updated the appendix, I added short descriptions and locations of the new Targaryen castles.
> 
> You know the deal, kudos and comments are appreciated, it really helps me write faster!


	4. Old Man and Spymaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varys and Aemon share words

Maester Aemon, well, he supposed he was not truly a maester. But he was still Aemon, though he did not feel like himself. Who in their right mind does what he did? _Kings do_, a voice whispered treacherously in his head, _Kings do_.

Aegon and Aelinor had been avoiding him all day yesterday and today, and Aemon would be lying if he said he did not understand. He understood but it still hurt.

I am truly a king now, look at me now father, you who called me weak, so weak a place as a maester would be the only place for me.

A darker thought opened in his mind; _would your father have sold a family member for peace_?

No, he answered. His father would have welcomed the fight to come. Maekar wasn’t always combative and eager for war. When Baelor died, he changed for the worse, then Aerys’ rule and mother's death furthered the change. A change that made his father unrecognizable to Aemon himself.

Like he was unrecognizable to himself.

He sold a boy no older than six to a man who killed maybe a dozen people for sport, or a hundred. Facts come to the Wall slowly, but gossip reigns anywhere. King Joffrey was a madman from half the gossips and the Father wrapped in gold in others. Aemon as a student of history knew to read between the lines. Every rumor has an inkling of truth. Aemon thought of King Joffrey perhaps less than ten times at the Wall, but every time it ended in him thinking, _who in their right mind gave a green boy with sadistic tendencies complete power at the age of thirteen?_ Gods above, Aegon the Third had to wait till he was sixteen to take full power.

Aemma shrieked in delight as she ran from her septas and handmaidens in the gardens, bobbing and weaving through bushes. They were in Visenya’s smaller garden compared to the larger Rhaenys’ garden or the godswood. Mostly because of the size in which Aemon could see the whole garden from his perch on the six-foot raised dais in the corner of the square-sized confinement deep in Maegor’s Holdfast. Also because of its location. He could stay on his floor of Maegor’s Holdfast and never leave.

Elaena, who he remembered was named after Princess Elia was right behind the septas and handmaidens defending Aemma in their games, kicking and punching with her weak and small hands. Nearby, Viserys was fighting with a small wooden sword against Ser Lewyn who quite hilariously acted as if Viserys had delivered a great blow to his bowels, and his entrails were threatening to spill.

Aemma eventually tired of running from her caretakers and distracted by Ser Lewyn’s fake screams, threw herself upon Lewyn’s body where he lay in mock agony in the grass. Elaena and Viserys joined in soon after.

The sound of children’s laughter made Aemon smile in happiness. It was so sweet and innocent. Apparently, for the past year Aemon had done this daily, his care for politics had faded, and he was a puppet king with Rhaegar as the true king. Rhaegar and the small council. A council of lickspittles who had let the situation get so dire he has to sell a boy, nonetheless the Aemon in this world, _himself_, was to blame as well.

If only he was the man his father Maekar was, Maegor and Vaella would never of have conceived if he had the will and apathy to do so. But alas, he sighed, he was not made for such violence. Not like Aerion, never like Aerion. Father’s golden boy, the boy who could do no wrong, till he did all wrong.

Aemon released a shuddering sob of repressed guilt, anger, and incompetence. Guilt at still being glad and relieved when he received word at Summerhall of Aerion’s death in Lys. Anger at the troubles Maekar left his children by ignoring the faults in one and finding them in others. And his incompetence stemmed from it.

But no more, Aemon resigned himself. He may be weak in the legs and arms and eyes, but he was the king. No one else. Him. And he would do what it takes to do what he is doing now, bathing in the sunrise with children’s laughter as a grateful kingdom watched the sun rise in peace.

His nephew, Ser Daeron’s quick movements to attention let Aemon know someone was approaching. He turned his head slightly to catch a glimpse of Sam’s grey robes.

“The king is resting, maester.” Daeron’s voice was gruff in protectiveness as he whispered. He knew how stressed his king had been since the small council meeting yesterday morning.

“The king wanted updates on Prince Maekar’s movements.” Sam whispered back in response.

“Give them to me, I will ensure the king reads them.”

“If you whisper any louder the children will hear,” Aemon laughed. “I am old, not deaf nephew. Sam.”

Daeron moved aside as Sam swept forward in his robes. He bowed low; his bony, scarred hands gripped a letter. “From Lord Caswell, he has returned your raven rather fast, my lord.”

Aemon took it with trepidation, he was unsure if Lord Caswell had more loyalty to his king or liege lord. He was to find out now.

He unrolled the letter, and frowned, then realized it was written in a maester’s code, _a code only maesters knew_. A code used to send secret messages, how would Caswell know it, but Aemon remembered Lord Caswell’s brother was a maester. He smiled as he read it. “Good, Sam, this is good.”

“Shall I send the others as well.” Aemon put the letter in the brazier by his fur covered legs. Aemon found himself to be very cold lately, if it was any indication, he had barely any time left. “Send one to Lord Footly, then to Rosby and others.”

“Will this work?” Daeron questioned.

“It must. I need time.”

“Time is always moving, give me a few good men and I’ll kill Maekar, Renly, Loras, and my sworn brother Aelyx.”

Aemon sent a glare at his nephew. “And I told you, I want peace as swiftly and bloodlessly as possible.”

“and I said it was not possible. What can you hope to accomplish by delaying the Brightflame a fortnight? He will soon realize the feasts are not in his name.”

“One to boost his inflated confidence, if he makes a wrong move with his perceived loyalty of many lords than he can make a decision where I can strip him of his titles. But mostly I need more allies. And that requires time, nephew.”

“I will deliver the letters now, your grace.” Sam whisked away.

“I still think it is foolhardy, never trusted my namesake Daeron Brightflame, he was proud, and he died being prideful.”

“I never trusted him either. Who was he to demand the right of a title for himself? I agreed it was an oversight, but no one can challenge the king like that and not receive a punishment. May his soul rest beneath Gulltown but I’m glad I denied him the right to be a prince.”

“And Maekar is his father’s son.”

Aemon shook his head, “We must not further demonize them, they are family nephew.”

“Family who would and will kill us all in our sleep.” Daeron argued.

“Denial of what you are born to believe is your right is what leads to delusional desperation.” Aemon watched Aemma wrestle Viserys to the ground by cheating. She bit into his arm and wrapped her legs around his chest, her baby skirts suffocating him and blocking his eyesight. “The throne should never be _anyone’s right_. It must be earned.”

“You sound like those Free Cities cheesemongers, uncle,” Daeron gruff laugh made Aemon smile.

“Perhaps that is the right path, a full cycle, as Maester Darym would say. I came to the throne in a great council, I will leave it in a great council.”

“You would doom us all if Maekar is named king by a great council,” the simpering voice of Varys appeared from the shadows of the hall. Daeron’s sword hand flexed nervously on his sword grip. He has sharp ears and never heard Varys approach. _The eunuch was dangerous, _Aemon deduced.

“You called for me, your grace?” Varys bowed very low.

“He did no such thing eunuch,” Daeron was in a fighting mood. No matter how old he was Daeron would be Daeron. He would need to make sure no blood was spilled in front of the children, “Daeron, it is quite alright. I did call for him. Hours ago, though,” he sent a searching look at the eunuch.

“I was in the city, your grace,” he took a seat in the plush one Aemma sat in earlier while she talked of her dreams, dragon dreams most likely. “The city has greatly benefitted from your rule. The cobblestone streets, the organization of the streets and harbor, the sewers, the addition across the river. The magnificent Great Dragon Bridge.” He sighed like a maiden in love, “It is all so glorious. To think one man as yourself has made Westeros almost as great as the Freehold itself.”

“No need to remind me of my accomplishments. I remember them well.” Aemon drunk his tea. “Nothing was or will be as great as the Freehold Varys.”

“I beg to differ; the Freehold was great and poor as well.”

Aemon looked him into his eyes, “Poor? Valyria had so much wealth Asshai paid tribute at one point.”

“Greatness is only as great as the people. And Valyrians were horrible slavers, thousands of slaves died daily toiling in their cavernous mines. If that’s not poor and tragic I don’t know what is.”

Aemon nodded; Varys had a great point. But the smallfolk in Westeros were barely any different. “I did not call you to refresh my studies, Samwell does that enough when he teaches the children.” Aemon ordered a servant to pour a cup of tea for Varys, he thanked him with a glistening smile. “What I want to know is. Is what game you are playing at Varys?” He said honestly. "What are you and the cheesemonger Illyrio Mopatis up to?"

The master of whispers choked on the tea slightly. Coughed into a daintily folded silk handkerchief he pulled from his robes. “Your grace?” Aemon was delighted he could surprise the Spider still.

Daeron stood behind Varys in a threatening manner, Daeron oh so loyal, nary a glance and he understood what is at stake. “Tyrion, I have an idea of what he wants, but you. You have been a mystery for over two decades, and maesters do not like mysteries. We see magic in the darkness of mysteries, and they do not like magic Varys.”

Instantly the dainty and childish court manner Varys holds himself to was gone. His shoulders that were slightly slumped rose and he looked down upon Aemon with his chin lifted high. “Snooping for answers to mysteries has gotten many people killed.”

Aemon shook his head as Daeron’s arm raised. “I agree, but you are an enigma.”

“Enigmas do not move in silence. People will always try to understand their mysteries.”

“You are not an enigma then? By your own meaning you aren’t.”

“I have never lied once, withheld information, but never lied.”

“Have you ever withheld information from me?”

“Certainly, I have with many people.” He sipped his tea. “But never anything critical to your reign.” Varys eyed Aemon. “Well, except for the one-time Lord Daeron Brightflame tried to assassinate you, I killed the assassin and orchestrated Daeron’s death. A crossbow bolt in the chaos of battle will be hard to find the source, an ally could have shot it.”

Aemon wanted to puke, but he caught the gist of it. A gist of what Varys is about. “Your loyalty was never to me, or a cheesemonger across the sea was it?”

“I owe my loyalty to many, millions, but never to you and a cheesemonger.”

Aemon looked to children still playing if not tiredly, their caretakers and Ser Lewyn were bathing in the sun laying down in the grass from exhaustion. “Look Varys, at the children.”

“I see them, _always_. Innocents are always _protected_.” Still Varys turned his full attention upon the children.

“I owe my loyalty to them, everything I do now is to ensure they won’t suffer.”

“I as well, your grace.”

“Then why are you not opposed to marrying Viserys to young Leona Tully?” Aemon put some silent strength into his voice.

Varys reacted unlike he expected. A true tear escaped his left eye. “Yes,” he answered quietly. “Sometimes sacrifices must be made for all the children. Prince Viserys’ sacrifice won’t be in vain; I’ll make sure of it.”

Aemon smiled, “Then give me your undying loyalty Varys. I will need it. Not to defeat Maekar and Daemion or who else comes along, but to defend them,” he gestured to his grandchildren in his heart, “the innocents. Even young Gaemon, Maekar’s boy. They are my blood and blood wins out.”

A false tear dripped down from Varys’ right eye. He clapped in false pride and elation. Then faster than he would have liked knelt and bowed his head. “King Aemon, I pledge my secrets and trust to you, but if I learn of anything to betray my trust, I will not hesitate like I did for Lord Daeron.”

Aemon narrowed his eyes; one did not threaten a king and get away with it. But Varys had his uses, uses Aemon needed yesterday to deal with the mess of succession he unknowingly caused.

“Never lie to me and keep my secrets safe. I will have no treason under my nose when young Maekar arrives.”

Varys assented, “Of course, your grace.”

“Do I need to remind you of what will happen if you betray me and the children are hurt because of it?” Aemon put some steel into his voice once again.

He received a shook of Varys’s bald, hairless head, shining in the morning sun.

He extended his hand for Varys to grab. He did more than that. He puckered a powdery kiss on the backside of his palm. When he rose again, he nodded.

“When you leave, call for Lord Tyrion. I must share words with him as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Tyrion and Aemon share words.


	5. Aemon the Younger and Rhaenys: Domestic Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aemon and Rhaenys share some pillow talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished a pesky History paper on Heian-era Japan, so you guys get a Maester King and Uncrowned update!!

He stuck his tongue deep down her throat, and she eagerly took it, wrapping her legs around his sweaty waist, nails digging into his shoulders. His chest a brand of fire and unrepentant desire. Her husband always ran hot during sex. Too hot sometimes when Rhaenys was not in the mood, but tonight she wanted to feel her husband all over her. Who knows how long they have to be in each other’s arms and relaxing in love? Him inside her, deep and reaching to places she wanted, no, needed touched. Sometimes when they got like this, Rhaenys felt as if her insides were being rearranged, when he was reaching so deep.

Other times when he reached too deep it hurt and felt uncomfortable. But not tonight, not at his angle. Her left hand caressed the sweat-streaked short brown locks on the nape of his neck. Aemon the Younger kept his hair short always, even when she liked his curls hanging down his face. Like when he returned from Tyrosh, after bringing down their walls with dragon powder when they deigned to support a Blackfyre pretender. But then all would see the beauty of her husband, like they did when he knelt before the king bringing news of their victory.

She separated from his mouth to breath in the cool air of their chambers. It was too much, too much pleasure. She could hear the slick sounds of him penetrating her over and over. She was close and he was too, and they only had a few more moments of this. Elaena and Aemma would wake and then apprehend all their time.

With a groan she felt Aemon slow down to push into her with direction and love, “Faster, love, faster.” She would feel too much if she came this way, Rhaenys wanted to be at least able to stand when her babes came bursting in as they were wont to do.

His response was his mouth on where her collarbone and neck connected, her sweet spot, “Hmm, I want to feel everything.”

“Aemon,” she moaned as her right hand grabbed his buttock. “Please. _Please_.”

He chuckled softly on her sweet spot. Ironically, that had her come undone, not his soft and sure movements in her. “_Aemon_,” she exclaimed in a breathless voice. Her nails dug into him everywhere for an anchor to reality, this was too much. She hated him for making her come undone this way.

A few more soft thrusts and he finished as well. Her husband collapsed on top of her, and the only sounds were their heavy breathing. His sweat slicked body moved slightly in tune with his breathing against her.

“Love, I cannot breathe,” Rhaenys slapped his ass.

He laughed in her ear and rolled off. “I think I’m getting old.”

“Old? You just turned five and twenty!”

His grey eyes centered on her, “When we first married, I could take you back to back, now I need time to rest. If that is not old age, I don’t know what is.”

“Stop being dramatic, Aemon,” she smiled at him, and lazily rolled over to kiss him and tuck herself into his side. “I think you are old, because that was round three, dimwit.”

“Round three? What time is it?” Aemon teased.

Rhaenys frowned, by the light creeping through the curtains, “Past morning of course, near midday, strange…”

Aemon’s hand grew tight around her, “It is strange,” his head turned to examine the door. “Are our children dead?”

She slapped his chest, but she giggled. “There has been no morning since El was born that we had to ourselves.”

“No septa or servant to complain of Aemma either, Rhaenys, I’m worried. Have our children decided to not annoy us for one morning?”

Rhaenys knew her children and when they weren’t disturbing her and Aemon, they were disturbing someone else. Usually it was father, but he had busy lately and they had learned to stayed clear of the bitter mood Rhaegar would get when he had to rule.

She unlatched herself from Aemon to his dismay, “Rhae, stay. We still have some more time to ourselves surely.”

She sighed, “We don’t, Aems. Maekar will be here in a fortnight.”

He sighed in annoyance, “A fortnight, Rhae. We have today, love. When was the last time we were together like this? Before Aemma? She has been wild since day one.”

“We have today, but I need to pack our things,”

That chilled the room, Rhaenys knew her husband felt useless not being sure if he was able to protect them when Maekar arrives, but he cannot stand being far from his girls. The only time he had been away was during the Tyroshi campaigns, and Elaena was just a wee thing. White-blonde hair, big purple eyes, and she fit right into Rhaenys’ arms like she was always meant to. Elaena the first grandchild of Prince Rhaegar, named after Elia Martell, Rhaenys’ mother who died to bring Aegon into this world. She had zero memories of her, but father says she has her face and black hair.

The silence was stifling. When she looked over her shoulder Aemon was laid back staring at the black and red canopy in thought. She reached out a hand to take his. His grey eyes turned on her, she expected anger, but all she saw was understanding. “I’m sorry, Aems, I take no pleasure in winning this argument,” usually when they argue it was like a contest to see who could win, that usually brought joy in winning. This time there was no joy in her win.

“I as well,” he pulled her close, back into his chest and fitted against him. “I fear for the future. War is upon us. El and Aemma must be safe, I realize now I cannot do so by myself.”

“War was always meant to happen, Aems, it was inevitable.”

“I know, but I promised El I would never leave her side, I’m breaking that promise.”

She smiled solemnly, “You made that promise when she was two, Aems. I’m sure she doesn’t remember.”

“I do, Rhae,” he said quietly.

Sometimes she hated her husband. He took the honor of the Starks too far sometimes. He needed to learn that sometimes promises needed to be broken. Though he has broken numerous of promises with her. _Don’t go to Tyrosh if its war,_ she pleaded when they were less than a year into their marriage, and he promised he wouldn’t, then a month later he was boarding a ship south.

“I hate you,” she sighed.

His hand went to her chest, “I know, you do,” his mouth was on her neck just below her ear, two fingers tweaked a nipple. She gasped in surprise, pleasure, and pain. “El and Aemma will keep I’m sure, now that I think of it they are with the king probably.”

The king was another issue. “Something is wrong with the king.”

Aemon separated as if she was searing hot. “What’s wrong?”

She shrugged, “A week ago he had no need to fix his mistakes, no matter if he only made one or two. Now he is changing everything to fix them. What happened?”

“He fell sick Rhae, he probably realized his time was limited and did not want us to fight battles that should have been resolved long ago.”

She reached for his hand and he gave it to her, “Something doesn’t feel right, Aems.”

His lusty eyes turned serious, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, call it a woman’s intuition.”

“Okay, then we will deal with this tomorrow,” she smiled brightly, and brought his hand to her chest again. He chuckled, “But right now shall be for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the deal, kudos and comments are appreciated, they really help me write faster!


	6. Sam's Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING!
> 
> If you have issues to self-affliction and d not want to be triggered by what is in this chapter please do not read!!
> 
> With that being said this chapter is another short one to try to move on the story while giving background to Sam who some have wanted to learn about for he is gaunt in this universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm so late coming back! I'm trying to move this story along now so this ascension in politics may seem like a wild escalation but I needed it done, only trying to keep this to 10 chapters.

Sam’s Nightmares

Sam fidgeted as he sat down on the hard cedar chair. He flipped another page and sighed, words jumbled together and left him nearly blind. That though brought a terrified shiver through Sam, _cut the eyes out, maybe if he had none, he would read no more, _the deep, disassociated voice said. He slammed the book shut in frustration and grabbed his knife. Reading won’t take away his father from his thoughts after reading the letter from Lord Crane. He rolled up the roughspun sleeve to reveal an arm crisscrossed with pale scars. Scars of war, torture, and self-affliction.

Sam hissed slightly as he drew a small cut on his forearm. The pain brought relief and bounded him back to reality. _Scars self-inflicted aren’t scars inflicted by father._

Though it brought the cowardly Sam to the front, and he began to cry. He did not ask to be born this way. He loved to read but it was as innate in him as Aemon the Younger riding a horse. That brought him more images of his tenure beneath Horn Hill, for it was Aemon the Younger who saved him from captivity. Why did his father have to make things worse, he was already in his thoughts daily? _The damn letter from Lord Crane_!

He cried in frustration again, one cut was usually enough, now here he was doing another small incision into his scarred flesh. And slammed a hand down on his worktable as pain coursed through him. He gritted his teeth, as he silently realized he cut into a different and older healing cut on accident.

Stumbling through his chambers he found clean linen to wrap his cuts in. Just as he finished the wrapping a knock was on his door. “Grand Maester, the king calls for you!” The voice was the young boy squires called the Wild Wolf, squire to Ser Daeron of the Kingsguard. “I’m to escort you!”

Sam sighed and wiped his tears from his bony face. _In the end you changed nothing_, he cursed his father. Sam was still the craven his father hated. He cut to push away memories a man would stand up to and come to terms with. But not Sam, he was unworthy to be a man. His arms told him that every day as they ached with new and old pain.

“Maester Sam,” Rickon called in worry, hands fumbling with the locked door. “Is everything alright?”

Cowardly Sam realized he was crying louder than he thought. Roughly wiping his hands across his eyes, and donning his knight salute, and dressing his neck with chains of numerous and uncountable metals. He transformed from cowardly Sam to Grand Maester Samwell. Sam grabbed the Lannister correspondence from last year and the foreboding letter the King read with a dark face earlier.

As he opened his door, he saw Rickon Stark raise his hand for another knock. The boy’s red hair was in disarray as usual, and a shit-eating grin was upon his face as Sam emerged.

“Were you crying?” Rickon was ready to joke in good-nature, Sam wasn’t going to let him.

Sam donned his stern, pursed lipped face Maester Marwyn taught him. A face designed to send annoyance and knowledge at once. “And you were playing with the kids again.”

Rickon was taken aback, “I was not!”

“Truly,” he reached into the wild curly puff the squire called hair and retreated with a stick. “Aemma win again?”

As they walked to Maegor’s Holdfast, Rickon regaled Sam with the story of Knights and Princesses, where he did _not_lose, but Aemma deemed him as the eldest to be her horse. Viserys was the one to watch out for today though, he brought ferocity to the yard today. “Ser Willem claims he had never seen a child so eager for fighting since Ser Arthur Dayne,” Sam frowned and winced at the name. Rickon noticed as he began his tirade into how Ser Arthur was the best swordsman ever and stopped.

It was no secret that Ser Arthur was dead because of Sam. Sam could do no cuts here, so he forced Ser Arthur from his mind.

In King Aemon’s solar, Lord Tyrion was present. Downing a chalice of a deep red wine. “Lord Tyrion,” he called in greeting.

“Grand Maester,” Tyrion inclined his head. “Summoned as well?”

He nodded and sat down next to him at the small round table. Tyrion studied him with those eyes of his, Sam knew all of the Dwarf’s techniques to put a man at a disadvantage. He would have no easy quarry here. “Wine, Sam?”

Sam shouldn’t, but with no easy way to cut himself here he reluctantly nodded. A devilish smile appeared on the Dwarf’s ugly face. Though Sam could not call Tyrion’s face ugly, his own was as gaunt as a man twice his age.

As he took his first sip the king entered from the side door. He walked slowly with the dragonglass cane he was suddenly fond of, but stronger than the day he rose from his weeklong slumber. That was good, he needed exercise. Sam should suggest doing gardening again.

“Sam, Lord Tyrion, I am pleased you could come,” Aemon sat down with a huff.

“The pleasure is all mine, your grace,” Tyrion dipped his head. Sam merely nodded his greetings. Another tool from Marwyn’s handbook. Seem more mysterious and indifferent than you are.

“A lovely day it is, though,” Ameon said as he moved a parchment thin and white hand through a sun ray. “I’m tired off beating the bush this week, Lord Tyrion so I’m going to be frank,” the king announced.

Tyrion gulped in anticipation, caught off guard for once. Even Sam was surprised. He expected Tyrion to lower the king’s defenses and get more out of this conversation than him. “Of course, your grace. What is on your mind?”

“Your sister has been leading to this arrangement for a long time has she not?”

“Cersei has been leading to many things, my king. Not all of them good.”

“Leona Tully on the throne is her goal is it not?”

Tyrion smiled and drunk some more wine, “Her ambition, my plan.”

Aemon sighed, “And Tywin’s role in this?”

Tyrion’s smile faltered slightly, “My father’s role is not important.”

“It’s not? Varys seems to believe it is. Without Tywin there is no Westerlands.”

Tyrion scowled, a look Sam has never seen before, “I am the west, your grace.” He poured more from the flagon into his chalice. “I’m the heir.”

Aemon sighed, “As I feared.”

“As you feared?” Sam had to ask.

“Tywin has no place in this Lannister scheme for he is not involved in this swindle.”

“Swindle? I assure you this is no swindle, your grace,” Tyrion was frowning viciously now.

“I _will_ say what I **want**, Tyrion.” Sam himself was pushed back into his seat by the vitriol of the king. “This is a madness. You lie to me? In front of my own council!”

The king’s voice was hoarse as he yelled, though the yell was more like a man speaking normally. “I’m sure Lord Tyrion meant nothing by this, your grace.”

“Bah,” Aemon waved his hand. “Nothing was meant by this, you say. What about the children whose futures are on the line? A peaceful transition once I die!”

Tyrion had finished his chalice once again. “How did you learn of this?”

“Does it matter? You lied to me and Varys. You convinced him that Tywin had agreed to this arrangement beforehand.”

“Have you met my father,” Tyrion said drolly. Aemon did not find it amusing. “He wants a queen and he’ll get one through Leona. Does it matter how the deal is made? May I ask once more how you came across this information?”

Sam did not see of any sign from the king, but serving under Aemon for years made him accustomed to being in meetings with him. Sam pulled out the several letters of Lannister correspondence he was supposed to bring. Tyrion’s eyes bulged at the sight.

“Your grace?”

Aemon made a shushing noise, “Sam tell the great heir of Casterly Rock what this correspondence was of.”

Sam cleared his throat, as he watched Tyrion and reopened year-old letters. Sam had never seen Tyrion so utterly knocked down a peg without words. In this case Tyrion barely had time to speak. “These letters were sent by your father Lord Tywin last year. They spoke of the same betrothal we arranged for recently.”

“Leona wasn’t born last year,” Tyrion says.

“Joffrey’s wife was expecting, and in return for a royal betrothal, Tywin wanted to be given Red Lake,” Sam finished.

“Red Lake? That lake hasn’t been in Lannister domains for nearly a thousand years, what does father want with it?” Tyrion asked incredulously. 

“Foodstuffs, more water sources, gold, more taxes, a one up on the Tyrells, I don’t know and don’t care. What did Tywin want when he destroyed Castamere? Prestige, power?”

“Why does this matter to this situation. Prince Maekar will be here soon, and father will realize he won’t be having that.”

“Tyrion when has your father ever been a reasonable, unprideful man! Think! Use the brain you’re so proud of. When your father finds out through his eyes and ears on Aegon’s Hill of the betrothal what is he going to think?”

Sam knew Tyrion already knew this, but the fact that this will lead to war paled his face. He slapped his face. “Seven hells,” he muttered. “Jaime wanted me to do this, and it was easy to convince Varys once you know what he fears.”

“Seven hells is true, Tyrion, seven hells.” Aemon poured himself a cup of wine albeit slowly and drunk from it. “Who is the paramount lord of the Reach?”

“Lady Olenna,” Sam answered.

“And who is her granddaughter married to?”

“Prince Maekar,” Tyrion answered gravely.

“Now you see the backstabbing ways of your sister Tyrion, look at the letters her signature is under those letters as well, agreeing to the betrothal right next to the meager script of your brother in law.”

Aemon stood on his cane and walked to the window. “What is to be done when Tywin sends his knights to prepare Red lake for a smooth transition into the Westerlands and begins taxing them? Who will the Tyrells send? Randyll Tarly? A known unfriendly ally to the crown. When Randyll and Tywin’s knights fight, blood won’t just be pouring in King’s Landing but in the south, then the North at Moat Cailin, then the Vale.” Aemon sighed and finally looked old. “I thought this would bring peace maybe, but all I’ve done is make things worse.”

“Your grace, what would have me do?”

“Is there a way to fix this Tyrion?” Sam sighed in sadness, he really wished he could cut himself to tear father from his thoughts, as he took out the dark letter sent earlier.

Tyrion saw the blue wax with a crane and paled again. “No.” he shook his head.

“Dark wings, dark words, Lord Tyrion. Ten are dead and five more in the dungeons underneath Red Lake,” Sam responded.

“And my father? Prince Maekar? The Tyrells?” Tyrion was gravely pale now. “Others take her, Cersei?”

“The Prince of Brighthall has turned back to Highgarden where an army is being raised, I’m sure. Lord Tarly sent this letter as a warning before the whole Seven Kingdoms learn of this fiasco.” King Aemon seemed to be weeping.

In a broken voice, “All I did these last few days to prevent this war and it seems my first decision is the one to cause it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will finally see Prince Maekar. And I'm considering a double chapter with King Aemon and Prince Aemon talking.

**Author's Note:**

> You know the deal, kudos and comments are appreciated, they really help me write faster!


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